


I'll Take That as a Yes

by LoversAntiquities



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Photographer, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM, Background Character Death, Bathing/Washing, Bondage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Kinbaku, M/M, Massage, Model Dean, Nude Modeling, Photographer Castiel, Prostate Massage, Rimming, Sex Tapes, Sex Toys, Shibari
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-10
Updated: 2014-10-10
Packaged: 2018-02-20 16:05:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2434802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoversAntiquities/pseuds/LoversAntiquities
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's a nude art model at KU and has loans to pay off before graduation. Castiel's a photographer looking to finish his photography exhibition with a kinky hobby and a lifetime supply of hemp rope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 前方高手縛り

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter Title: 前方高手縛り (Front Hand Tie)

“A photography major came in yesterday,” Charlie told him, throwing the white tablecloth in his general direction; since the start of the session, she never _had_ looked him in the eye. “They were looking through the portfolios, but they were _specifically_ interested in _you_.”

It wasn't the first time he had heard that – the Arts department were constantly looking for whomever they could get for live models, whether for drawing or photography – but the idea of someone wanting _him_ left his face burning. Was it embarrassing, knowing that majority of the art students at the University of Kansas had in one way or another been up close and personal with his junk? If it weren’t for the money, he wouldn't have done it at all. He had rent to pay by the month and an unruly freshman of a brother to feed, because for all the things scholarships paid for, basic necessities _weren’t_ one of them. Being eaten out of house and home wasn't on the top list of his monthly priorities.

At least Charlie decided to start the conversation _after_ the last of the Still Life class straggled out into the hall. The studio, a decently sized classroom with an oval table at the center and twelve chairs sitting around the edges, was silent save for the rustle of the cloth he wrapped around himself. “And what’s the girl’s name?” Dean asked, slipping off the table and walking towards the shelf in the corner, taking his pants down from one of the cubes. The last three people that had hired him, one professor and two graduate students looking to fill their undergraduate portfolios, had all been women, the last of the latter using it to her advantage; to this day he still had no idea if she was using him as eye fodder or not. She paid well, that was all he cared about.

“Actually, it’s Castiel Milton.” The statement had him snapping to attention – not only was it _not_ some chick, but it was _him_. Mr. Hoity Toity himself, with his full ride and _prospects_. What was he doing in Kansas, anyway? “You know, rich kid with the glasses? He seems… dreamy.”

“More like douchey.” Charlie scoffed at his remark. Pants finally zipped and still slung low, he moved to his shirt, tugging it over his head. “Seriously, the _last_ time I saw him? He was criticizing ‘bout _half_ of the damn exhibition they set up in the student union. Who made him king of cameras?”

“Methinks Dean doth protest too much,” she jeered, elbowing his ribs. “You know you _like_ him.”

“What are you, five?” He rolled his eyes. “The guy’s an _ass_ , plain and simple. And what’s he want _me_ for, anyway?” Like he was anything special – he knew he looked good, but compared to every _other_ person he had seen Castiel photograph in his previous exhibitions, he was _nothing_. “I bet he’s not even offer—.”

“Dude, he wants to pay you a _grand_ for each session. _Five_ of them!” _What_. “You gonna pass _that_ up?”

He was still trying to wrap his mind around the _price_ – a _thousand_ bucks? To take _pictures_ of him? Charlie was staring daggers into him as he stumbled back towards the table, plopping down into the first chair he could reach. “Holy _shit_ ,” he breathed, staring up at the drop ceiling tiles. “…What the _fuck_ am I gonna do with five grand?”

“Pay off your _loans_ , duh.” She patted his shoulder. “So are you gonna do it or not? ‘Cause he needs your acceptance by the end of the day. You’ll meet with him tomorrow and go from there.”

He was barely even listening to her anymore, more preoccupied with the number of zeros in the figure he was given. It wouldn't pay for _everything_ , but it was a start, between working at the café on campus and sitting around naked for a few hours a week. He could have resorted to prostitution; at least this way, he wouldn't be arrested for indecent exposure. But would he willingly go along with _Castiel_ , of all people?

For that kind of money, he wouldn't bend over backwards for the guy. But he _needed_ it; graduation was next semester, and he wanted at least some of the burden off his back before he started working in his field. “Tell him I’ll do it. But I’m _not_ happy about it.”

Charlie smirked and turned to the door. “Whatever you say, hon.”

-+-+-+-+-+-

“Seriously, five thousand?” Sam was even _more_ shocked than he was, if that was even remotely possible. Seated at the bar in their cramped kitchen, his fork had nearly fallen in the last of the spaghetti Dean had made after his mid-afternoon class ended. He himself couldn't eat more than half – nerves twisted his stomach into knots. He was supposed to meet Castiel at his apartment the following morning, and he still had _no_ idea what he had planned. This would either be incredibly easy or the most taxing thing on earth. “Is he just throwing around cash? I mean, does he do that to anyone _else_?”

Dean shrugged, fidgeting with his fork. “Not that I know of. He pays cash, she couldn't pull up any of his transactions.”

“Did you actually ask her to look?” Dean didn’t answer. “You _did_!”

“Dude, _anyone_ throwin’ around that much cash, you’d check them out too! The guy’s a dick, thinkin’ he can just waltz in there and start tossin’ out numbers, who does he think he is?”

Sam was _laughing_ at him, or choking; he preferred the latter, it made him feel less embarrassed. “What’s your problem, is it because he’s a Milton or someone actually think you’re worth their time?”

“Since when am I worth anyone’s time?” Dean huffed. “Especially not _that_ kind. I mean what am I, some wh—.”

“You’re not a _whore_ , Dean.” He stood to carry his empty plate to the sink, taking Dean’s along with it. “As much as I _don’t_ wanna think about you doing what you… _do_ , you’re apparently good at it. So what if he wants to pay you extra? Maybe he’s got something expensive planned, ever think about that? That maybe this isn’t exactly gonna be your normal run-of-the-mill shoot?”

Of _course_ he had thought about that – that was what scared him in the first place. The lack of rampant rumors on campus about just what went down with his other models gave him some solace; maybe he wasn’t creepy, just incredibly forward. And demanding, that too. _What a prude_. “Whatever he’s got planned, it better be fuckin’ _worth_ it.”

-+-+-+-+-+-

Dean Winchester didn’t expect much out of the first session. Maybe just _meeting_ the guy, exchanging numbers, getting to know just what he was being dragged into. _Not_ being stripped down to his underwear in the middle of the guys spare poster bed, kneeling with his hands and arms bound to his chest by more rope than he knew _existed_ , in some semblance of praying, all while Castiel Milton adjusted the ISO’s and shutter speeds and God knew what else was on that contraption he was holding.

And it _really_ shouldn't have been as hot as it was.

Castiel lived on the opposite side of Lawrence in one of the few high rise apartments there, his ‘room’ taking up the entirety of the twelfth floor. He had a good view of the town, Dean had to admit, overlooking the campus in the distance and the fields out past the city limits. Cars zipped by the highway in and out of town, headed either east towards Kansas City or west to Topeka. Never before had he seen how the midmorning light reflected off the rooftops, turning the city a brighter shade of what he had only seen on the ground. All he could think was, _this guy knows how to live_.

And he did, in a two-bedroom loft apartment, with the walls painted light gray and decorated with furniture, sparse as it was, either looking highly expensive or the most comfortable thing on the planet, sometimes both. He spent majority of the morning on the couch with Castiel sitting in a chair opposite, explaining the whole spiel. “I’m attempting to finish my graduate exhibition,” he started, handing Dean a mug of coffee before seating himself. “I’ve finished with three of the four models needed for my theme, and I saw that you were the only one that would do full nudity.”

And _there_ it was. His face flushed red as he averted his eyes, hiding his smirk behind the rim of his cup. “D’you think I’m _pretty_ , Cas?”

Castiel rolled his eyes, sitting back in his seat. “ _Yes_ , but that’s besides the point. You have the exact body type I’m looking to photograph, if you’re willing. I’m sure Charlie has told you of the pay—.”

“Where do you even _get_ that kinda cash?” Dean set his mug on the coffee table between them. “Cause lemme tell you, throwin’ around a grand per session? That ain’t normal.”

“It’s not.” Castiel shrugged, hands folded in his lap. “But for this, it’s more than enough. The theme is very… hands on. It’s entirely up to you if you wish to go through with it.”

“Depends on what you’re asking.” As long as it wasn't depraved, he would do just about anything his employer asked. He drew the line at anything involving being naked in public – this was _Lawrence_ , not a nudist colony. There were people he actually _knew_ in this town.

Castiel sat up as he spoke, resting elbows on knees. “Have you ever heard of kinbaku?” Admittedly, he hadn’t. “It’s the art of rope bondage, practiced in Japan. My theme for this set is ‘The Beauty of the Male Submissive.’”

“Wait, wait.” Dean stopped him, making it a point to catch his eye. Shivers shot down his spine at the sight; Castiel might as well have been staring into his _soul_. “You wanna tie me up for cash? ‘S kinda kinky, Cas. Didn’t know you had it in you.”

“I’ve been told I’m good at what I do.” Standing, Castiel moved to sit at his side in the couch, one hand examining the skin of his wrists, fingers gliding up to his shoulder. “Your face wouldn't be in any of the pictures, and I’ll ensure that no marks will be left behind.” A palm caressed his neck; Dean swallowed hard. “We’ll do every session in the room down the hall, so you needn’t worry about location. We’ll work at your comfort level – if you don’t like the idea of something, feel free to let me know. I have no intentions of hurting you in any way.”

 _Shit_ , he really had thought this through. Of course he would – he _organized_ the project, he probably knew each and every shot he wanted down to the letter, and how. The only question was, how far ahead had he planned? It sounded good enough on paper. “So ‘m I gonna need a safe word or anything?”

Castiel cocked his brow. “Do you feel you need one?”

“Depends on what you’re gonna do to me,” he offered with a wink, chuckling lowly at Castiel’s suppressed amusement. The guy needed to lighten up – getting out of his suit in the middle of his _apartment_ would probably help. “So, when do you want to…?”

“We could start today, if you’re willing.” Castiel stood and took Dean’s now empty mug when offered, carrying it with his own to the kitchen sink on the other side of the room. “What’s your current schedule?” Dean told him – Monday and Wednesday were full, leaving him with working majority of the day on campus the rest of the week. “Since today’s Friday, would you prefer meeting here in the mornings? Today’s my only free day as well.”

He gave a nod, rising from the couch and brushing off his knees. “So, tell me what’s in your playbook for today?”

“I figured we would start slow.” Castiel thumbed towards the room at the end of the hall. “I’d like to bind your torso. Second door on the left, I’d like for you to strip to your underwear and wait on the bed. I’ll meet up with you momentarily.”

Stuffy, but at least he got to the point. Last time he heard something along those lines, it involved one too many drinks and a guy he didn't remember even remotely _seeing_ the next morning. At least he was sober and in full control of his faculties this time, which included being able to walk under his own power to the aforementioned room, white and empty except for the maple poster bed, draped in what looked to be the most comfortable sheets imaginable. He flopped into them to confirm – _I could nap here and never get up._

“I wouldn’t recommend sleeping here,” a voice sounded from the door. Castiel strode in, black Nikon in one hand and an endless loop of red cord in the other. “My room is much better suited for that.”

Dean sneered. “Such a flirt, Cas. You like this with all your clients?”

“Just the attractive ones.” Dean’s face flushed, growing deeper with the way Castiel was _watching_ him, a smirk toying with the edge of his lips. “I can’t very well do my job if you’re fully clothed, Dean.”

That made sense. But what _didn't_ was that he was still going through with it, despite the insecurities that nagged his brain. His part-time profession was taking off his clothes for complete strangers for hours on end – why was _this_ bothering him? Perhaps the lack of an audience, or maybe the medium Castiel was choosing to use. He could sit around and let people draw him all day – or _on_ him, like Anna and her girl friends had done last semester – but this? The idea took an inopportune time to rear its ugly head. _Beauty of the Male Submissive_. Was that what he really was?

“Are you alright?” Castiel’s voice tore through the fog of his movements. He had yet to remove his shirt, fingers still tracing the hem of the faded fabric unconsciously. “Are you having second thoughts?”

“No! No.” Dean shook his head. “No, just… thinking. You sure it’s me you want?” Shrugging his shirt over his head, he tossed the article towards the door, pointedly looking at his fly. “I mean, Adam’s always on call, and he’s better—.”

Castiel stopped his words with a hand to his chin, brows furrowed somewhere between concern and softened determination. “I chose you for a reason, Dean.” He stroked a hand down his neck, settling at his collarbone; the rope was draped around his neck, offsetting the monochrome of his clothing. “You’re beautiful, much more than anyone I’ve worked with. And I’d like for you to see the same.”

He swore, given any other situation with him and his incredibly frustrating voice, he would have thrown him down onto the bed and gone to town. Instead, he opted for the close middle and shimmied out of his jeans, hurling them across the room. “Normally my models aren’t as eager as you,” Castiel chuckled to himself; he set his camera down on the windowsill and opened the blinds enough to let in the midmorning light, bathing the already bright room in an even whiter glow. If he kept his eyes open any longer, he might go _blind_.

He should have felt embarrassed in nothing but his boxer-briefs, he figured, especially when Castiel pushed him to the middle of the bed and crawled to sit before him, uncurling the coil in his lap. “I’d like to start at your wrists.” Dean placed them together at his front, watching the photographer begin to bind him at the middle of the rope, soft against his tensing skin, almost silken in feel. How much had he paid for it? Once the first few knots were tied, he progressed up to his biceps, afterwards ordering him to pull the joined limbs tight to his chest.

Having Castiel at his front, he at least had something to concentrate on – now that he was _behind_ him, actively binding his arms to his chest, he was left breathing nervous breaths, staring at the blank wall. “So, uh…” he attempted to break the silence, shuddering every time Castiel’s skin touched his own. “What’s with the apartment? Couldn’t afford anything pricier?”

Castiel intentionally pulled a knot tight, earning a grunt and a wiggle once he scooted closer; he was _warm_ , heat radiating from beneath the sleeves that touched his back every few seconds. It shouldn't have sent goose bumps across his skin at the contact. “A gift from my mother. My parents are investment bankers, along with my brothers. Is this too tight?” Dean shook his head; Castiel continued without a word. “I’m not ‘rich’ like you and everyone on campus like to think. After I told them I wanted to work in the arts instead of following in my father’s footsteps, they gave me my inheritance and cut me off.”

“Sucks, dude.” He would have shrugged or at _least_ patted his shoulder; given that his entire upper body was immobilized, he stuck to nodding. “Must get lonely. Y’ain’t got a girl or anyone?”

“Unfortunately, no. I’m in the darkroom most of the day when I’m not in classes or working, and I don’t… get out much, anyway.” With one last tie, he ran his hands down Dean’s sides, the action drawing a sigh from deep in his chest. He found himself leaning into Castiel’s touch, the man’s breath ghosting across his neck. “You like being touched,” Castiel commented absently, fingers skirting just above his waistband; his stomach twitched under his attentions.

“Yeah, well… It’s been a while.” Suppressing his blush wasn’t the problem – the situation in his _briefs_ was a much more pressing matter. Today was his temporary reprieve; next Friday was an entirely _different_ matter.

Castiel hummed, chin propped up on his shoulder, hands continuing to pet him in long strokes, one lingering over the growing bulge in his shorts. “I can tell. You’re very tense, aren’t you?”

“Anyone ever tell you that you send a _ton_ of mixed signals?” He would have laughed if it weren’t for Castiel’s hands creeping along his inner thighs. “Dude, _what_ are you—.”

“Spread your legs.”

 _What_. “Wha—?”

“For the shot. I need you to spread your legs.”

Ironically, he had been asked to do _way_ more suggestive things in his life. Though admittedly they never involved a _guy_ telling him what to do, the same guy that was still running his hands over the ropes, one holding the central knot secure while he tucked his legs beneath and effectively sat on his ankles. A hand caressed his shoulder before the weight on the bed ceased, the man roaming towards his camera and flicking the power switch on.

He set up a few test shots and adjusted the blinds – something to do with the lighting, he said – all of which had Dean feeling unusually self conscious, especially with the directionality of the lens and the flush threatening to creep up his neck. Castiel joined him atop the sheets, maintaining a suitable distance as he continued his work through the viewfinder, concentrating on the placement of his hands, one clasped over the other, knuckles straining with misplaced nerves.

“Relax,” Castiel said, a calming hand smoothing up his thigh; he blew out a breath in reply, willing the tension to bleed from his veins. “You’re nervous, why?”

He closed his eyes; seeing the concern on Castiel’s face was too much. “I’ve never done… well, _this_ before. The whole…” he made a vague gesture with his hands, “ _bondage_ thing.”

“You’re doing so well though, for someone so inexperienced.” He set the camera down at Dean’s knee and shifted closer, cupping his face with soft fingers, thumbs gracing the rise of his cheekbones. “You’re naturally submissive, yet you haven’t had the chance to experiment with it, have you?” He lowered his head, falling into the subtleness of his touch, original intent now suppressed. “Maybe I rushed into this too soon.”

“No, _no_.” Half lidded, he met Castiel’s gaze. “I’m just… It’s new, y’know?”

“A good kind of new?” He nodded; Castiel smiled and placed his thumb to Dean’s lower lip, slick from where his tongue had wet it a moment before. “You’re such a _good_ boy, Dean.”

He could barely contain the groan that escaped when Castiel kissed him – _totally unprofessional, dude_ – practiced hands keeping him from collapsing backwards and probably straining his legs in the process. His lips lacked the artistry he had experienced with the ropes, purely seeking to accomplish _something_ , namely frustrating Dean to the point of whining, especially when his tongue came into play. Staying upright was becoming more taxing by the second, and with every fiber of his being he wanted to fall flat and take Castiel with him, feel his hands, mouth on him in ways he had never _thought_ of before. He barely knew the guy – what in the _world_ was going on?

“There.” Castiel pulled away for the sake of breathing, leaving Dean panting from the loss, lips swollen from abandoned kisses and teasing bites. He picked up the camera – the guy was _playing_ with him. And he couldn't even deny he liked it, if the tent in his briefs was anything to go by. “How are you feeling now?”

“Man, if you’re gonna do _that_ every time, I might never leave.”

Castiel had the audacity to _laugh_. “I’ll make it worth your while.”


	2. 亀甲縛り

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title: 亀甲縛り (Turtle Shell Binding)
> 
> Edit: I fixed this chapter, apparently I missed an entire scene at the beginning. Whoops!

Four hours, one lunch and an honest to God _massage_ later, and Dean found himself sprawled across the living room couch, pillow over his head, reflecting on just _why_ the jerk off in his shower had him blacking out for the first time in _forever_. How was he even supposed to explain the situation to _anyone_? His poor brother tolerated at _best_ the art modeling, but this? Being tied up and subjected to equally the most infuriating and attractive man he had ever met? That was new, even for him.

If he didn't watch himself, Castiel was bound to have him confront things he didn't know he even wanted in the first place. And it was _terrifying_ even to think about, knowing that apparent ladies-man Dean Winchester was willingly allowing himself to be taken down about ten notches for the sake of cash in his pocket. He should have felt cheap; the way Castiel touched him though, made him feel nothing of the sort. He didn't have to think about his life outside of the university, his parents back home, the bills that needed to be paid, none of it while he was with him.

For those few hours, he felt better than he had in his entire life. Except for the heat in his groin that hadn’t entirely dissipated. _Four more weeks_. Four more sessions being manhandled by photographer slash rope master Castiel into positions he felt sheepish to even _consider_ on his own. And the fact that he would be _naked_ for the entirety of it had him wanting to both run away and drop to his knees. It wasn't about the money – maybe it never was. The minute he stepped into that apartment, his worldview – no, his _life_ – changed.

“You’re home early,” he heard Sam say over the opening of the front door, book bag being hooked on the rack by the window. The poor guy had a lab on Fridays, leaving him out of the house for majority of the midday hours. “I take it he didn't kill you?”

Dean made a grunt that he hoped passed as confirmation. “I think I’m in love.”

Sam _laughed_ at him, a sound that echoed off the walls with amused glee. “I thought you said he was an, and I quote, ‘egotistical hippie dickwad.’”

“Yeah, well, things change when you’re tied up in his bed.”

 _That_ earned the pause he had been looking for. Sam gave him his best impression of a deer in the headlights, jaw slack in awe. Dean rolled over, hands folded on his stomach, and _sneered_ , launching into the events of the morning, sans the groping and the two or three impromptu makeout sessions that left him boneless, even after having the ropes removed. Sam cleared his throat. “Sounds like he knows what he’s doing.”

 _Understatement_. He was playing Dean like a Stradivarius. “He took a shot with my phone, wanna see?”

“ _God_ no, keep that to yourself.” Despite his brother’s reservations, he could still see him fighting back a smile. “So he picked _you_ , because you _looked_ naturally submissive? Dude, _I_ coulda told you that.”

“Hey—!”

“Dude! You’re like, Mr. Repressed over here, anyone can see that. And I’ve lived in the same _house_ as you for the last twenty years.” Dean opened his mouth to retort, being cut off by, “And your choice of girlfriends? If you wanted to—.”

“ _Enough_ , Sammy.” He shuddered, shoving a pillow over his face. “Happy with your newfound knowledge?”

“You know it.” Sam pulled himself from his chair, stopping in the hallway briefly. “So you’re… okay, with what he’s doing? Not gonna freak out or anything?”

Dean waved him off. “’M fine with it. Everybody’s got their kinks.” Himself included.

Being paid to exploit them, though? _Fuck yeah_ , he could get on board with that.

-+-+-+-+-+-

“ _Fu—ck_ , that feels good.”

“I was hoping it would,” Castiel murmured softly, fingers kneading the skin of his shoulders, progressing lower, working him into putty in minutes flat. At least he opted not to wear the suit today; instead, Dean was greeted to the man in _pajamas_ and his hair in complete disarray, like he hadn’t expected him to show up at all. Now, Castiel was practically sitting on his bare ass, the sensation of too-soft cotton touching him in ways no blankets or high-thread count bed sheets ever could. Turning over would be a near impossibility if he were asked. “You carry a lot of stress in your shoulders. Have you suffered an injury before?”

“Mm?” He was barely paying attention, mainly focused on not rutting into the mattress. “Oh, dislocated m’right one ‘long time ago.” Castiel shifted down his legs enough to work on his lower back. Dean sighed, content. “Got ‘n a wreck, few years back. Broke an ankle, too.”

“I’ll try not to put too much pressure on them, then.” With that, Castiel sat up and left the bed, returning with the same coil as the previous week and two smaller sets, setting them near the pillows. “I’d like to tie your wrists to your ankles. Does that sound reasonable?”

 _Anything_ sounded reasonable as long as he didn't have to move very far. That was the purpose of the massage – get him relaxed enough to where his mind wouldn't start fighting back. They were learning how to work together, testing Dean’s limits, what he liked and didn't, how far he could bend. Which was _very_ far, as they had learned; he could probably go down on his own dick if he wanted. He had the gall to ask if Castiel could; he never _denied_ it, for one, a notion that had Dean bristling with the need to find out.

Castiel started by rolling him onto his back, an action that was protested _deeply_ , ultimately earning a low chuckle from the other man. “It’s perfectly natural,” he said, taking the longer coil and helping Dean to sit up, much against his will. “Though, it might make things harder.”

Apparently his dick wasn't catching the _memo_. “Yeah, well, tell that to _it_.”

The red hemp fell around his neck, deft hands weaving the rope under his arms and around his torso, knotting where the strands met. “I think it looks nice, actually,” Castiel commented absently, more concentrated on his task than making eye contact. Dean didn't know what he would do if he _did_ look at him. “Thicker than most. Wetter.”

 _Fuck_. “Are we really having a discussion about my cock right now?”

“We don’t have to.” The bastard was _smirking_. “What would you like to talk about?”

 _Anything that doesn't have to do with my dick, for one_. “What got you into this?”

“Kinbaku?” Dean nodded. “One of my old partners used to practice in Los Angeles, mostly working in suspension. I was his subject and subsequently learned from him.”

“No _way_.” Castiel rounded to his back, forming a long column along his spine before looping around his lower belly. “ _You_ used to get tied up? And in public?”

A nod. “I wasn't fond of having an audience. I much preferred situations like this. It’s much more… intimate, don’t you think?”

It made sense; there was more of a connection in that room, he felt, rather than being strung up for all eyes to see. He wouldn't be able to do it; just _this_ was a trial in itself. “Y’got some balls, man. Were you any good?”

“I was more flexible than most, but I don't think that made up for anything. Lift your hips.” He complied and drew up to his knees, squirming as Castiel drew two ends of the rope between his legs, continuing his knots and tying one just above his still-straining dick. He shouldn't have been as turned on as he was, both at the idea of strong-and-sure _Castiel_ being tied up, and his own body enduring the same treatment; he began to wonder if this extended to the bedroom. Surely it _had_ to. Maybe he could get him to tie him to the bedposts. _Stop thinking, Dean_. “There are probably pictures in tutorials online. I haven’t bothered to look.”

The last of the cord tied off, he moved to his second set, securing Dean’s arms behind his back with a series of knotted loops at the middle. “On your back. I need you to relax, I don’t want to strain you.” Once in position, Castiel helped to draw his ankles towards his lower back, tying them to his thighs, far less elaborately than his arms but enough to keep him in place. And in one move that had his back arching, Castiel hooked his limbs together. He couldn't move – he actually couldn't _move._ “This is _weird_ ,” was his first comment, wiggling to test just what his limitations were.

“Are you hurting anywhere?” Castiel ran a hand over the diamond pattern he created, the ropes shifting easily with every breath. It felt _safe_ , oddly enough. Dean told him no, closing his eyes with a sigh. “You look perfect, Dean. Stunning.” He placed a kiss to his temple with a smile. “Though, I’d prefer your erection not be in the final shot. Would you mind if I adjusted you?”

That had to be the _worst_ dirty talk ever, if that was even what it was supposed to be. But the very thought of Castiel touching him in _that_ way had him whimpering against his will. “Do whatever y’gotta do, Cas,” he mumbled. “Make it quick, though. Don’t know how long my back can do this.” All that work tying him up for five minutes of shoot time sounded counterproductive; any other position and he might have been able to hold the pose for much longer. He _really_ needed a chiropractor.

Castiel was off the bed and out of the room without a word, leaving Dean in the barren room alone with only his breathing and rampant confusion for company. _Great, the bastard’s gonna break my spine_! He huffed and opened his mouth to call out to him to not _leave him there like that_ , Castiel returning before he could scream. “I have waterproof adhesive tape,” he commented and took his dick in hand – _he’s touching me, he’s actually touching me_! – testing just how far he could move it before it decided to try to snap back. “It shouldn't hurt you when I take it off.”

To his dying day, he would never admit to the sound he made when Castiel _taped_ him to his _thigh_ and let him go. “Do you think you can stay still?” Dean nodded to the best of his ability and let his shoulders bear the most of the weight, giving a final sigh.

Somewhere between the consistent shutter and Castiel’s presence moving around the room, at one point _carefully_ remove the tape from his skin and letting his dick rest in the curve of his hip, he lost himself, solely concentrating on his breathing and the soft hum of the air conditioner blowing chilled air through the floor vents. The room smelled nice that day, he noticed; hints of vanilla and sugar wafting in their shared space along with the faint hint of match smoke. Maybe he lit a candle; that would make sense. Or else the house was burning down. _No, it’s not that. He’s lighting candles. He’s trying to keep you calm._

It was possible he fell asleep in the short time between start to finish, or he had somehow shoved his consciousness to the side for the time being. Either way, he came back to the feeling of Castiel’s hands sliding down his neck and to his shoulders; he rooted himself to the touch and opened his eyes, the room feeling dimmer than before. The blinds were closed, only a faint sliver of light peeking through. “So good, Dean. That was perfect. You can move your hands now.”

Oh, right. Somewhere in his lapse, Castiel had untied him and helped him to sprawl out atop the sheets, limbs finally freed from their prison. “’M sore.” It came out in little more than a whisper, his voice lost in exhaustion.

 “Stay awake for me.” He felt Castiel kiss him briefly, a gentle press to his lips, cheek, eye. “I need to make sure you haven’t strained anything.”

Through half-lidded eyes, he watched Castiel test his joints, the only sign of discomfort coming from his right wrist. A stress fracture he forgot to mention; it healed over two years ago, but ached whenever the temperature dropped below fifty. Castiel never apologized when he left the room again, coming back with a glass of water and a small ice pack. “Sit up for me, then you can rest.”

He drank from the glass he offered, handing it back empty; Castiel moved to set it on the windowsill where the white candle rested, flame flickering on occasion. “Lay back.” He did, the other man joining him in a lazy pile, threading their limbs together with intent. He spoke words Dean didn't quite catch, but the sound had him feeling blissful, high without the added benefit of orgasm. He wasn’t even hard. _Weird_.

He dropped off to the feeling of a compress on his wrist and Castiel’s fingers in his hair, rubbing small circles into his scalp, keeping him safe.

-+-+-+-+-+-

Holy _shit_. Not that waking up alone was weird, but _holy shit_. For one, he didn't recognize where he was until he noticed the spiraling bedposts and significant lack of furniture. _I fell asleep_? Rolling onto his back, he pinched the bridge of his nose with the hand that wasn't wrapped up, breathing out a slow breath. At some point, a blanket had been laid over him, the suede slipping softly against the faintest hint of rope burn. _That_ was gonna hurt in the morning.

At the edge of the bed, his clothes were folded into a neat pile with a note written on a torn sheet of legal paper. The letters were scrawled, barely legible. ‘ _We need to talk_ ,’ he read, mouthing the words to himself. _Shit_ , was he about to be fired? Did he do something wrong? Great, he somehow managed to screw up majorly during the session and now he was about to be out of a potential client. He couldn't remember what he _did_ though, other than lose his senses. Maybe that was it – maybe he completely ruined the shot; it wouldn't be the first time. This was why he stuck to drawing classes. Photographers were an entirely different ball field of perfectionistic assholes.

It took him another five minutes to convince himself to get dressed, and another two to make it out the bedroom door and into Castiel’s main living area. The man was dozing on the couch, hands folded on his stomach, socked feet hanging over the arm; his eyes twitched in his half-sleep state until Dean cleared his throat. “You’re awake,” Castiel remarked abruptly, bolting upright with wide eyes.

“Y’look surprised to see me.” He tried to bring humor to his words, only ending up sounding harder than usual.

If Castiel noticed the change of tone, he chose to ignore it. “I didn’t expect you to stay after reading my note.”

 _Huh_. “What, did the last guy leave?” Castiel’s lack of a reply was his answer. Dean rubbed the back of his neck, nervous, taking a seat where Castiel’s legs once rested. “I wouldn't do that, I’m just…” He turned his eyes to the floor. “Did I fuck something up?”

“You did nothing of the sort.” Castiel slid closer and crossed his legs, taking his strained wrist in hand. The pack had been left on the bed; he should probably go back for it, judging by the swelling there. Rubbing the tender skin gently, he continued, “You were perfect – better actually. I have one question, though. Where did you go?”

Go? Go where? “You mean physically? Or—.”

“Your headspace, Dean. Where did you go?”

“Oh. I, uh… I wasn’t really thinking of anything…?” Castiel was watching him carefully, both hands drawing circles in the inflamed skin of his wrist. “Like, I think once you lit the candle, I was gone.”

Castiel hummed to himself, finally releasing the hold on his hand. “Have you ever heard of the term ‘subspace’?”

Dean visibly deflated. “This isn’t about photography anymore, is it…?”

“I’m afraid not.” Sensing his apprehension, Dean mirrored his position, allowing their knees to touch. “I’m going to explain this to you, but I need to know first. Are you willing to continue these sessions with me?” He told him yes – as long as he wasn't about to ask him to go out and murder someone, he would do just about anything for the guy. Money wasn't even an issue anymore. “I believe in starting our work, we’ve revealed your subconscious desire to submit under certain circumstances. Namely, anywhere you feel safe. Has this ever happened to you before?”

He answered with a no. “It’s… I thought you were a _dick_ , dude.” He huffed a laugh, Castiel chuckling at him under his breath. “But you’re actually _nice_ , and you touch me like you _care_. It’s just… It’s… different. _You’re_ different.”

“I can say the same to you.” He stroked a finger along Dean’s chin, trailing up to behind his ear. “I was expecting you to tell me no from the start. Any particular reason you didn't?”

“…I wanted to,” Dean admitted. “But you were throwing around cash, and I got loans to pay, it just sounded easy at the time.” A shy shrug. “Guess I overestimated you.”

Castiel smiled, just a hint of one tugging at the corner of his lips. “You don’t need to feel intimidated. And for what it’s worth, I don’t think I would rather work with anyone else. No one else can compare to what you’ve done for me.” He swore if he blushed anymore that day, he would need to go to a doctor. “You should turn that color more often. It makes your freckles stand out.”

He was going to _die_ if he kept talking. “Don’t—you can’t just say things like that, man!”

“But it’s true.” Castiel kissed his cheek, one hand clutching his shoulder tight. “You’re beautiful, Dean. In every way.”

And how Castiel ended up straddling his lap on that couch would remain a mystery, along with how many times Sam called him before he managed to steal away a second and throw his ringing phone to the floor.

-+-+-+-+-+-

“So you _made out_. With your employer.”

Dean reclined in his bench seat, arms draped across the back lazily. So what if he hadn’t stopped smiling since he got home that afternoon? Two hours late, but at least he got home in time for their weekly dinner night at the diner in town. “What can I say, Sammy? No one can resist me.”

Sam choked back a disgruntled laugh. “God, you’re such a _man whore_. Look at you!”

“Hey, I’m not a man whore! I’m…equal opportunity.”

“Uh huh.” Their conversation paused at the sight of their waitress dropping off their plates before them, Dean’s bacon cheeseburger and Sam’s chicken caesar wrap. “I didn't see you sucking face with Anna when you worked for her.”

“That was different.” Dean took a bite with haste, realizing belatedly how _hungry_ he was. The two-hour nap in Castiel’s spare bedroom did wonders for his alertness but _nothing_ for the aching pit in his stomach. “Anna’s—.”

“A chick?” Dean nearly choked. “So is this _you_ now? No more eating your feelings or screaming ‘no homo’ every time someone bumps you?”

He couldn't exactly answer that. Living in _that_ house all his life left him wanting out the first chance he got, even if it meant living with Benny in his basement until he made enough to start paying rent. It was toxic, from his father’s drunken relationship with their mother to the beatings he was still loath to admit to anyone outside of Sam. If he could have taken Sam out of there when he left, he would have in a heartbeat. Life hadn’t been the same since he had been caught holding hands with Aaron on the playground in elementary school. Awake, he could repress the conversation – in his nightmares, he could still feel the sting of the belt, his father’s words, ‘ _My son ain’t no boy-lovin’ fag_ ,’ ringing clear and true.

That was years ago; now on his own, he was free to experiment however he wanted with whomever he pleased. And whom he wanted was _Castiel_ , in all his kinky camera-wielding glory. Thinking about it, he didn't even know what to _call_ their relationship. There was something overtly sexual about it in their scant few hours together, but neither had made any deliberate moves to act on it. And other than sucking face earlier in the afternoon, he had barely even _touched_ the guy. What was he supposed to make of it? Based on how Castiel blatantly _flirted_ with him every chance he got, he was pretty sure he would get a ‘yes’ if he asked to take it further than the sessions.

The very thought had him unusually giddy. Sam stared at him, clearly expectant of an answer. “Look, it’s _different_ , okay? It’s not like Anna or the professors or… _He’s_ different. I barely know the guy, but I—.”

“Dude, you’re totally crushing on your dom—.”

“He’s not my dom!” Sam was biting back laughter at his outburst. The woman at the booth next to them gave Dean a cockeyed glare. “He’s not my—I don’t even know _what_ he is, but it’s… It’s more than the pictures. _Fuck,_ I don't even know what I’m saying.”

“I’ve never seen you so flustered before! Look at you, having emotions.”

“Yuck it up, Samantha. You best watch your shampoo the next few days if you blab anything.”

“Dude, who’m I gonna tell? Jess is in the Figure Drawing class you sit in for, she already _knows_ you do some freaky shit.” Sam smiled. “Pretty sure the whole campus knows, too.”

“Oh _bite_ me.” Dean barked out a laugh. “’F you looked this good, you’d do it too.”

Sam jabbed his straw at him. “You just keep telling yourself that.”


	3. 後ろ手縛り

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title: 後ろ手縛り (Hands Behind the Back Binding)

“Y’know, last time I got bent over like this, I got plowed like you wouldn't _believe_.”

Castiel chuckled at his side, hands skirting over the ropes wrapped loose around his arms and wrists, continuing the loops around his torso. How in the world was he this methodical on a daily basis? The tension in the room was practically choking him, moreso than having to balance his weight on his shoulders while Castiel secured his forearms. He had been gracious enough to put a pillow under his hips today, claiming he would need him elevated later. But _why_ , was his question.

“I think you’re lying to me, Dean,” Castiel cooed, dropping his lips to his ear. A shudder ran through him at the sensation of a hand cupping his asscheek, fingers skirting dangerously close to his rim. The _tease_. “You’ve never let anyone touch you before. Not before me, anyway.”

Dean laughed into the sheets – black today, apparently he needed contrast against new white ropes – and wiggled his hips in invitation, feeling Castiel deliberately touch him that time, dragging his thumb over the sensitive skin repeatedly, never once threatening to dip lower. “Y’can, y’know. Been meanin’ to ask, anyway.”

Thankfully this time, Castiel couldn't see how red his face was. His hands left slowly, coming to rest in his lap. “That’s entirely unprofessional, Dean.”

“Pot calling the kettle black here.” He sighed, turning up his gaze, green staring into deep blue. “Pretty sure whatever you were doin’ to my ass crosses a line or two.”

Resuming his previous task, Castiel finished up two more knots before he opened his mouth. “So we’re both in the wrong.” Dean agreed with a grunt. “So what do you suggest we do about it?”

“How ‘bout a date?” The last of the rope tied off, he flexed his wrists enough to make sure last week’s strain wouldn't flare up again; Castiel left that one looser than the other, allowing him more mobility if necessary. “Doesn’t have to be fancy. We can go eat, catch a movie, whatever you want. There’s a drive-in that’s open Sunday nights.”

Castiel practically _purred_ above him. “I’d love that.”

Dean lifted his hips on Castiel’s insistence, hands helping him to draw up to his knees; he wouldn't be able to hold the position long without getting a crick in his neck. Sleeping tonight would be a pain. “I’ll have you sit up in a moment. I’m interested in the curve of your spine at the moment.”

“So’m I,” Dean said, voice muffled. “’mma have you book me a chiropractor after you’re done with me.”

“I’ve heard yoga can be therapeutic.” The shutter of the camera sounded at his back; Castiel’s free hand adjusted the angle of his back at times, otherwise keeping occupied at his hip or elsewhere. “You have midterms coming up, don’t you? You’re welcome to practice with me in your free time.”

“Might have’ta take you up on that.” He wriggled his shoulders, managing to turn his head away from the window. At least if he were to seriously screw up his neck, it would be on both sides.

“So what do you think about rimming?”

And then he proceeded to nearly pitch forward; Castiel’s hand on the bottom knot saved him from royally twisting something out of place. “ _Dude_ ,” he sputtered, incoherent. “ _Right now_?”

“I was suggesting at a later date, but if you wanted to now, I wouldn’t take it off the table. I’ve developed an unhealthy obsession with your ass.” He sat the Nikon by his head. “It’s entirely up to you.”

Never before had he felt his stomach tense in the way it was, his heart nearly jumping into his throat at the thought. His list of sexual exploits was vanilla at best, but this? Being eaten out by a _guy_? That was a new one. Castiel’s eagerness was barely contained by regular stoicism; he probably had this planned from the beginning. “If y’wanna, sure.” He tried his best not to sound too enthusiastic. “Gonna keep me tied, or…?”

Castiel narrowed his eyes in thought before answering, “I’d like you on your back. Does your neck hurt?” Dean told him yes while Castiel helped him roll over, propping the discarded pillow underneath his wrists. He laid his hands flat on the cool fabric, making a point to look away while Castiel left the room momentarily, coming back with a small, clear bottle and a washrag.

“Fucker, you _planned_ this, didn’t you?” Dean had to snicker at that, failing to hide his smile as Castiel shook his head at him, rejoining him on the bed between his spread knees.

“I’ve been looking for an excuse to make you come since I kissed you.” Tilting Dean’s hips up a bit, he lowered his lips to the head of Dean’s cock, placing a kiss to the skin there, hard from the moment he stripped out of his pants thirty minutes before. He was twenty-four – there were no logical reason for his dick to be acting like he was an overeager _teenager_. “So beautiful for me. Have you ever fingered yourself before?”

“Never.” He shivered at Castiel’s ministrations, lips wrapped just barely around his dick; the lick to his slit had him attempting to buck up further into the wet heat, Castiel stopping that with a hand to his hip. “ _Fuck_ , Cas—.”

Castiel shushed him quietly and continued lower, stringing a trail of kisses down his length to his balls, taking them into his mouth without the slightest hesitation. _That_ was new – the whole experience was different to begin with, from being tied up to having a guy he previously hated mouthing at areas previously reserved for whatever girl he picked up in a bar that night. And even _then_ , no one had been bold enough to do—holy _shit_ that was his tongue. _He’s licking my fucking ass_ —.

And Castiel wasn't quiet about it either, his general placidity turning to unbridled enthusiasm as he brought one arm to wrap around the meat of his thigh, the other reaching up to take hold of a knotted portion of rope, yanking him forward on occasion. He felt he should have been weirded out, having someone’s tongue slipping – _wet, so wet_ – over his rim, daring to dart in on occasion, just testing the waters. If Dean’s choked whimpers were any indication, he was doing a _damn_ good job of it, too. “ _Fuck_ —yeah, just like that, Cas—Gonna put that thing in me? _C’mon_ —.”

His fingers twitched absently the longer Castiel toyed with him, the hand on the ropes pulling, lulling him into a rhythm that had the springs of the bed creaking lightly beneath them. So lost was he in the moment that he barely registered the first breach of his tongue, soft yet sure inside him, only to slip out a second later, teasing, A few more more-than-curious licks and another kiss, and he buried himself in again with wild abandon, tugging the ropes more insistently, practically fucking him on his tongue, riding his _face_ with every push and pull of the ropes.

Castiel had him howling in a matter of _seconds_. Toes buried in the sheets, he was left writhing and chewing his lip in vain attempt to subdue the moans he _knew_ the downstairs neighbors would probably hear, had they been willing. The thought that he could _come_ like this, from just sensation alone, had his cock drooling in sympathy against his stomach, soaking into the rope nearest his naval. Begging wasn't his specialty for anything, yet the filth that spewed from his mouth – _fuck, fuck me, do it like y’mean it –_ would probably resonate in his consciousness for weeks. And he didn't regret a _second_ of it.

He _did_ regret when Castiel pulled away, wet faced and flushed, pausing long enough to slick his fingers with the contents from the bottle he brought in, sliding two digits around his spit-slick rim. “Do you think you can come from my fingers?” he asked, visibly struggling to maintain a sense of self-control; Dean could barely see the blue of his eyes past wide-blown pupils. _Fuck, he’s hard_.

“Put ‘em in me,” Dean answered, head thrown back as Castiel did just that, fingers rubbing insistently at a spot he never knew existed. He would never admit to the scream he gave, body seizing upon the insistent pressure there, coaxing precum to bubble endlessly from his cock, adding to the pool already formed. His legs barely had the willpower to stay still, thighs clamping desperately to Castiel’s sides, continuous shudders wracking his over sensitized body. “ _Fuckin’ Hell_ — _harder_ , Cas, wanna come—.”

Free hand in the ropes again, he tugged Dean onto his fingers even rougher, Dean crying out as his head snapped back into the pillows. He barely registered his orgasm before his cock was spilling across his chest and into the hemp strands, whimpering softly after each aftershock, even after Castiel removed his fingers and wiped the remainder of the lube on his thigh. Chest straining against his bindings, he struggled to catch his breath, Castiel looking just as fucked out, half leaning over his lower body, breathing just as harshly.

He knew that face. “Did you just—.”

Castiel nodded, looking down at the massive wet spot at the front of his gray pajama pants. “When you did.”

“ _Fuck_ , that’s hot.”

Dean flopped back fully, closing his eyes to the sound of Castiel kicking off his pants, tossing them to the side. Like the other times, he expected Castiel to start untying him and rub sensation back into his arms – what he got was the sound of the camera flicking on and lips pressed to his. “I want to take your picture, like this. Just for me. I want you to see how gorgeous you look covered in your cum.”

He didn't have the heart to deny him, not when his mind was still reeling from what could arguably have been the best orgasm of his life to date. “Can we take a bath after? Saw your tub, looks nice.”

Another kiss. “Whatever you want.”

He watched half-lidded as Castiel ogled him through the viewfinder in nothing but his shirt and dirtied boxers, snapping a few shots at different angles before turning it off and setting it aside again. Their after-ritual began, this time each untying of a knot punctuated with a kiss, always light, always tempting. His soul reveled in the hands stroking over newly freed skin, arms finally removed out from under him and pulled to the side, fingers smoothing out the reddened skin with care; marks would be left behind, he knew for a fact. Hopefully he wouldn't have to explain _that_ tomorrow.

The hand that skimmed up his stomach, _through_ the mess he made had him giggling uncontrollably despite how weird it felt. “Hope you plan to clean that up,” he said through a sigh, cock swaying with every wiggle of his hips.

“I intend to.” With another kiss, Castiel lifted off the bed. “I’ll draw a bath. Come with me?”

He couldn’t say no to _that_.

-+-+-+-+-+-

“You have freckles on your shoulders, look,” Castiel breathed against his neck, pressing his lips to the interspersed dots along his neck and back, trailing up to his jaw.

He blamed the bath for his temperature spike at the statement; he could barely look at the camera Castiel held before him, the man sitting at his back, their legs twined, toes touching with every small movement beneath the water’s surface. Every few seconds, Castiel would flip to the next photo on his camera, making sure to keep it level and well away from falling into the tub with them. It was expensive; Dean didn't blame him. At least he took the lens off before they got in.

Despite the rawness of the shots, he could see the potential they held; the final products would definitely fit into his exhibition’s theme. Seeing _himself_ in the shots though, was shocking. It was embarrassing to him to know that _he_ was the subject, that it was _him_ reflected behind the lens, all of it leaving his stomach in knots. “Do you know what freckles represent, Dean?”

A nip to his pulse point had him baring his neck, eyes closing from sensation. “No, but ‘m sure you’re ‘bout to tell me.”

“They’re kisses from an Angel.” He sucked a mark to Dean’s skin beneath his ear, earning panting laughter and halfhearted squirming. “There, now you have a new one.”

Blindly, he reached up to drag a wet hand across Castiel’s cheek, stubble oddly soft against his palm. “Look’s like my _Angel’s_ gonna have to mark me up some.” Castiel snickered in his ear, reaching over the edge of the tub to lower the camera to the floor by its strap. The nips and kisses resumed thereafter, Dean huffing out breathy sighs after each one, hand insistently pulling him closer by his hair. “So how’d you get a name like that, ‘nyway?”

“Religious family.” He mouthed at his jaw, sliding one hand down his chest while the other massaged the meat of his thigh. “Two of my brothers are named after Archangels. And I believe you let my sister turn you into canvas last semester.”

“ _Dude_ , don’t talk about Anna when you’re sucking my neck.” He retaliated with a sharper bite, laving his tongue over the mark in apology. “You’re gonna be the death of me, Cas.”

Castiel responded with a kiss, the faint taste of spearmint present on his tongue. “I sincerely hope not. That would put a damper on our date.”

Returning the touch, he twined the fingers of his free hand with those on his leg, smiling against Castiel’s lips. “Now, I don’t think _anything_ could do that.”


	4. フリーフォーム

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title: フリーフォーム (Freeform)

At some point in his day-to-day existence, whether it affected him physically or otherwise, his father somehow managed to worm his way into his thoughts. The early Monday hours after both the most awkward and best date of his life were no exception. Dean had been so enraptured by being in Castiel’s presence for something that _didn't_ have to do with having him hogtied in a bed to notice his phone ringing every ten minutes on the dot. Sam should have known the routine. If he didn't answer on the third ring, he was either _with_ someone or driving. In the one instance, at the same time. The most either of them got out of their evening together was dinner and a movie and fooling around in the back of his Impala, during which he familiarized himself with every inch of available skin he hadn’t been able to touch in that bathtub two days prior.

 The conversation when he returned home at nearing midnight wasn't the one he was expected, nor wanted to hear in any stretch of the imagination. Somehow John Winchester managed to wrap his car around a pole at the city limits; not even Kansas’ best emergency technicians were enough to get him out in time. Time of death, as declared by the trauma center in town, was 7:18.

His father was _dead_ and he had been out on a date with his _boyfriend_. He didn't know what to make of it. Sam, shock evident in his voice, was saying something about driving across town to stay with their mother for a few days until funeral arrangements were made and he was in the ground. Dean didn't hear a word of it, green eyes lost to the world. He hated the guy, sure, but he didn't want him to _die_. He would have to go to the funeral – he would have to see his mother _cry_ , something he had vowed never to see in his life, not again.

Sam told him to meet him when he could. He didn't hear the door close. Something in the back of his mind told him to follow his brother, go console their grieving mother, cling to each other when they needed the other the most.

Instead he ran, peeling out onto the two-lane that split the town in half, praying to whoever was listening that he didn't kill himself that night. The weight of his life, the burden of the last few years caved in all at once; he could hardly breathe under the stress, could barely shed a tear from the sheer tragedy that his life had become in a few hours. He wasn't to blame; even if he were there, he couldn't have helped the situation. But the guilt ingrained into him since birth had him convinced _he_ was the sole cause.

He needed to get drunk, cut, do _something_ that would take away the reality of the situation. Instead he found himself parking in the underground structure of Castiel’s building, adrenaline and shock carrying him up the numerous flights of stairs until he was standing in front of the loft’s door, panting, knocking like it would save his life. The hands on the hallway clock pointed to 12:57.

Surprisingly, Castiel was still awake, dressed in pajamas and looking all the bit haggard. Maybe he had woken him up. “Dean, what are you doing here?” he mumbled, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “It’s almost one.”

Dean wasn’t listening – he marched past his boyfriend and stood before the picture window at the opposite end of the room, hands dug deep into his hair. “’M gonna do somethin’, Cas. You gotta stop me, y’gotta make me forget today—.”

Castiel’s hand on his shoulder was enough of a trigger to bring him to his knees, burying his face in the soft fabric of his pant leg, hands clinging desperately to any skin he could reach. “Dean, talk to me. Please.” He joined him on the floor, keeping a respectable distance but allowing Dean’s hands where they pleased, attentions mostly directed to his ankle.

So Dean told him the story in full from the start, words slurring into one constant stream of thought. Several times, Castiel reminded him to breathe with a light tap to his neck, lest lightheadedness would have taken him. He never stopped him, only urged him to continue on, to let out the story he had never told anyone, information he had even neglected to tell _Sam_ , of all people. His closest confidant, best friend, _brother_. Castiel was the first to hear the words in their entirety in horrific detail, down to the grit of his emotions, of the deep-rooted guilt that threatened to consume his every thought during his waking hours. “Tie me up, do what you want with me,” Dean pleaded, head bowed, unbidden tears streaming down his cheeks. “Just stop me, _please_.”

“Look at me.” He couldn't; he could barely lift his head. “Dean, this wasn’t your fault.”

“Don’t _lie_.” Dean turned away and struggled to his feet, collapsing along the way. The words ‘ _too much to bear_ ’ crossed his mind as Castiel tugged him close, pulling him to his chest. “If I wasn't with you—If I had answered the _phone_ —.”

“You couldn't have stopped it.” Castiel ran a hand down his back, clutching his shirt and wringing it in his fist. “There was nothing you could’ve done.”

“Don’t gimme that—.” He attempted to shove at Castiel’s shoulder, to push him away. To let him _go_. All he got was a tighter embrace, a hold he wanted no part of. His constant struggling and slew of curses fell on deaf ears. Castiel didn't understand – he _couldn't_. Yet there he was, acting like he did, acting like he _cared_ – what did he know? He didn't know his father – he didn't have to deal with what he endured, day in, day out for years. And despite the hardship, he still _loved_ the bastard. “So fucked _up_ , this is _fucked up_ , Cas.”

Castiel took the brunt of his tirade in stride, waiting perfectly still until Dean was reduced to incoherency against his chest, until the sobs stopped and his breathing returned to a steady rhythm. “Stay with me tonight, Dean,” he murmured softly, petting the sweat-soaked hair behind his ear, fingers tracing circles into his scalp softly. “We can talk in the morning. Just please, come with me.”

He didn't remember falling asleep, or making it off the floor in general. The next he recalled, he heard the gravel of Castiel’s voice within inches of his face, a steady hand tracing the sleep-warmed skin of his arm. He was on the phone, Dean figured; in retaliation for being awake in the daylight, he burrowed deeper into the way-too-comfortable sheets, listening to the sound of Castiel speaking into what he suspected to be a cell phone.

“Yes, he’s here. … Yes, this is Castiel—He told you that? … I’ll let him know. … Yes, I’ll go if he wants me to. … No, he’s not _tied up_. He’s pretending to sleep. … Dean, your brother wants to speak to you.” Dean buried his face in the pillow nearest his head, grunting at him to call back later. “He said he’ll call you back. … Yes, I understand. My condolences.”

The sound of the call ending and the phone being set on the bedside table had him opening his eyes, taking in the space around them. Castiel was sitting up amongst the white down blankets, naked except for his underwear, palming tired eyes. His bed was most likely antique, ornate wood carved into delicate spirals on the headboard and surrounding panels, all dyed a rich chestnut. The lightest of blue walls surrounded them at all sides, adorned with equally elaborate shelving and furniture. Past the open blinds and sliding glass door, a rocking chair sat on the patio, overlooking all of Lawrence.

It was peaceful. He wanted to live in that moment with that view, never having to return to the disaster that had become his family and life, never having to face the light of day. “What’d Sam want?” he mumbled, turning back to Castiel, the man now lying on his side.

“Neither you nor your brother are attending class this week. Your mother wants you to stay with her until arrangements are planned. He invited me to come with you.” Castiel closed his eyes. “If you’ll have me.”

He sighed into their shared air, lacing his fingers with the hand lying between them. “Don’t think I could do it without you.”

-+-+-+-+-+-

Surprisingly, his professors were extremely understanding of the circumstances surrounding his absence. He spent majority of the week with Sam and their mother across town, Castiel spending the first two days at Dean’s side before heading back to his own apartment, texting whenever was convenient for either of them. Surprisingly, he attended the funeral with them that Friday, a small event in the cemetery outside of town, visited by only immediate family and John’s closest living friend, Bobby. Castiel didn't have to go – he did anyway, keeping close, at one point taking his hand when the world felt to be too much to endure.

It wasn't until Sunday that he saw Castiel again in his home, the two sharing a lunch date on a rainy afternoon, dark skies surrounding the city on all sides. “I think we need to start over,” Dean mentioned after the dishes were arranged in the dishwasher and they were seated on the couch, content to watch one another and not the flat screen on the wall. “It was, uh… It was good up until… y’know.”

Castiel nodded and lowered his eyes to the couch cushions, fingers toying with a loose thread. “How do you mean, though?”

“Like, our whole… _relationship_ , thing. Get the baggage out of the way, get to actually _know_ each other without havin’ a fuckin’ _death_ do it for us.” He took Castiel’s hand in his, manipulating him into a handshake. “Dean Winchester.”

Before him, Castiel smiled and gripped his hand tight. “Castiel Milton.”

He smirked. “I’ve heard you like to get your kink on with strangers in your back bedroom.”

“You’re welcome to visit, if you’re so inclined.” Castiel leant over, their noses brushing in close proximity. “There’s something I’ve wanted to try for a while. With you, specifically.”

They started with him bare on black sheets, body on its side, left leg towards the right bedpost and vice versa, both pulled taut by hemp. A set of loose yet intricate white ropes bound his wrists together in front of his crotch, one knee shifted up to join them. Around his neck was another strand, tied off somewhere underneath the mattress, keeping enough pressure on his throat to have him rooted to consciousness. Castiel would never hurt him, he reminded himself the longer that final rope was on. _He’d never strangle you. He’d never hurt you_. He didn't trust his voice when asked if anything were too tight, if he could move; Castiel stroked his cheek as a reply and loosened the slack, allowing him to lay his head back without worry.

“You’re so good for mean, Dean.” He felt a kiss being pressed to his cheek, followed by hands stroking down his arm, fingertips gracing his thigh with intent. “I have something specific in mind. Do you think you can do it for me?” He murmured a yes, eyes barely focusing on the man before him. He pulled something from his pocket, faintly shaped like— _oh fuck_ —. “I’d like for you to wear this.”

If he weren’t awake before, he was _now_. “When’d you buy a plug?” Castiel kept one hand grounded on him at all times as he rounded his body, coming to rest at his back, lips being placed to the jut of his hip and further back.

“I visited the mall on Saturday in the off chance we might have sex.” Some fumbling around over the edge of the bed, followed by something cold and wet being pressed against his rim, a digit purposefully teasing before dipping in. “I like your body when you writhe. I’d like to see how it looks on camera.”

He bit his lip through the whole process, toes curling with each press of Castiel’s talented fingers, two now, prepping him with more lube that necessary; the remnants were spread across his ass, the medium-sized plug slipping inside with ease, curved head nestled against his prostate, an involuntary jolt of pleasure shooting up his spine. Castiel’s intent should have unnerved him, shocked him to his core; he barely knew the guy. What was his favorite color, movie, favorite vacation spot? Where did he work outside of photography? But despite that, he felt safe in his hands, like that was where he was supposed to be. They had forever to get to know one another.

Now, he was becoming acquainted with what vibrators felt like. Formerly stifled moans went unrepressed as Castiel pressed a button on the flared base, the toy springing to life and leaving his entire body tensing with absolute rapture. “Don’t move. You flex so beautifully when you’re aroused.” He rounded the bed to the opposite side and, camera in hand, tapped his chin. “Can you do that for me?”

Dean nodded. He couldn't do much else with how the ropes had him bound. Amidst the sound of the shutter and the adjustment of his limbs, he concentrated on the whirring of the toy inside him and the precum that was spilling onto his hands and into the sheets. As far as he knew, he couldn't touch himself for fear of ruining the shot, but the temptation was there, burning at the base of his spine. His hands were so _close_ —.

“Gon—come, Cas,” he panted, chest heaving dangerously, gripping pathetically at the sheets, toes slipping in a failing attempt to gather purchase. He needed friction, needed some form of touch; begging was his only option. “ _Please_ , wanna come—.”

“Don’t touch yourself, Dean.” The bed dipped behind him, steady hands rolling him onto his front, feet crossed over one another, still wriggling in the ropes that bound them there. Hands in the sheets and hips in the air, he found himself staring at the camera at the foot of the bed, lens pointed in his direction, red light flashing near the dials. “I’d like for you to see how you look when you let yourself go. Perfect, Dean—,” toy shut off and pulled out, he listened intently to the crinkling of a condom wrapper, the sheathed head pressed firmly to his hole, “—So _perfect_.”

The moan he made when Castiel pushed in was ungodly—the fact that it was caught on _film_ made it even louder. Castiel still had his _clothes_ on, the brush of those stupid pajama pants soft against the overheated skin of his thighs when he fully buried himself, waiting for Dean to steady his breathing and stop swearing like a madman. “Feel so _good_ , Cas,” he whined, eyes squeezed shut. “Want you, _please_ —fuck me—hold me down—.”

Castiel complied, hands pressing hard on his shoulders, preventing him from skidding up the mattress with each jarring thrust, dick nailing his prostate every few thrusts, a clockwork pattern that had him biting the sheets for fear he might say something he might regret later. Castiel never admonished him though, only egged him on, whispering words of praise at each moan and whimper he made. “You can come, Dean,” he heard him say, hips slamming against his own frantically. “ _Come for me_.”

And he did, mouth hanging open in a soundless shout, body seized for a good few seconds before white spurted up his chest and into his hands, a few straggling drops staining the black beneath them white. He dropped off somewhere after that, oversensitive but content to feel Castiel still inside him, giving a final few thrusts before he felt the man flex and spill, his moan reverberating through his core. The red light watched them silently, finally blinking off after their shared sigh.

Hands brought him back to reality minutes after, soft ropes being unknotted and stripped from his skin, allowing him to turn onto his back and wiggle lazily into the mattress. Castiel kissed him, languid, draped over him with hands in his hair, Dean’s brought around his back, sliding them under the sweat-soaked fabric of his shirt and slipping it off without complaint. “You’re the best, Dean,” he said in all seriousness, kissing the point of his chin, the softness of his neck above the raw skin where the rope had chaffed. “I apologize if I was too rough with you.”

“Y’did perfect.” He nuzzled Castiel’s cheek, a pleased smile gracing his lips. “Loved it.” They kissed again, lips solely content to touch. “Got a question for ya, though.”

“Anything.”

“’M I the only one you’ve done this with?”

He caught Castiel staring at him, eyes wide in a cross between fear and astonishment. Fear never once crossed his features, expression only softening as the seconds passed. “You’re the only one.”

“Good.” Castiel shifted to lay beside him, Dean allowing himself to be held in that gentle embrace, warming the wounds in his heart, soul. “I really like you, Cas.”

Castiel hummed into their kiss. “I really like you, too.”


	5. 片足吊

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title: 片足吊 (Single Leg Suspension)

It took them another two weeks to fit in the final session, every day bringing with it a new sense of anticipation. Dean barely made it through lectures without letting his mind wander, several times having to distract his thoughts before the bulge in his pants became too prominent. Leave it to him to turn a harmless practice into something entirely sexual. With anyone else, he wouldn't have had the reaction he was – with Castiel, though, all of the rules had changed. He spent two or three afternoons a week at his and Sam’s apartment for dinner, every night struggling to not act on their obvious affections in the company of his _brother_ , of all people. Sam may have known everything about Dean, but he didn't need to know _that_ much.

Exams and work took of majority of his waking hours during the week, leaving him with barely enough time to even remotely think about helping Castiel. And his boyfriend didn't push, having his own obligations with his job – writing lengthy editorials for popular nature magazines, he learned – to attend to. It wasn't until his two exams before Thanksgiving break had been completed and Castiel’s article on the wilderness of the pacific northwest – which included his own photos, a first for him – was published, that Dean was approached with the idea for their final session before the exhibition in two weeks.

“I’d like to suspend you.”

He nearly spat his coffee across the table. “Come again?”

They were having breakfast at the Starbucks across from campus, Dean typing away on his laptop with an array of research papers before him, Castiel reading the morning’s newspaper across from him. “There’s a warehouse on the edge of town that I’ve been cleared to use. I would need assistance, though. I’ve already asked your brother and he agreed.”

There was a time and place to discuss this; in the middle of a family coffee shop was _not_ one of them. At least there weren’t any kids around to pay rapt attention to him. “You want Sammy – my _brother_ – to help you?”

“I’m sure he has seen you naked on more than one occasion.” Castiel was completely unfazed by the conversation – Dean was about to have a coronary. “As much of an expert as I am, this is a two-man job. And given the location, I don’t want to take any chances or have you injured in the process.”

It made sense, unfortunately. He didn't need to break a hip or dislocate something and have Castiel have to drive him back into town – _that_ would be a story to tell. Safety wasn't in his immediate thoughts; Castiel knew what he was doing, he wouldn't allow any harm to come of him. But _Sam_ , though. Sam would put him at awkward angles just to get a laugh. Every part of this was a horrible idea. “…When would you wanna do it?”

“This afternoon, preferably. Or whenever you’re free today.” Castiel looked up from his paper, folding it back into its regular rectangular shape. “It’ll only take a few hours of your time, so you should be able to continue working without a problem after.”

The clock in the corner of his laptop screen read 9:18; he had majority of his Sunday free, and his entire work and school week was free until Saturday, just in case his back decided to act up from the strain. “So’s this really gonna be the last one?” He tried to hide his disappointment; his original intentions may have been for the money, but along the way, it was more for the fun of the act. Though, five grand in his wallet didn't hurt.

Castiel looked genuinely curious, head cocked to the side. “You’d want to continue after the exhibition?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, turning his eyes to the papers on their table. “Kinda? It’s… freeing, I guess. I mean, we don't have to if you don't—.”

Two hands clasped his face before he could finish his sentence, drawing him into a kiss that had him flushed in embarrassment and desire. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

Dean smiled. “Ditto.”

-+-+-+-+-+-

“Dude, you couldn't’ve given him a _sock_ or something?” Sam called out indignantly, covering his eyes.

Dean _laughed_ , his voice echoing off the walls of the warehouse where Castiel was testing a support beam five feet away, tossing a rope up and over and securing it as tightly as possible. Two ropes had already been looped around an adjacent beam, an old mattress shoved underneath them all. Somehow he was going to be _tied_ to them, midair – the thought made his eye twitch. At least Sam was around to keep him from running out the back door. And stopping spontaneous erections, that too.

“Don’t act like you’re not impressed, Sammy,” Dean jeered. The towel that had been around his waist had been tossed away a minute before, lying atop his pile of clothes next to Castiel’s camera and tripod.

Castiel walked past and slapped his ass, smirking all the while. “It’s not polite to torment your brother,” he remarked, picking up several coils of black rope and throwing them over his shoulder. He motioned for Dean to join him by the girders.

They started with his arms, Castiel making quick work of binding his wrists, elbows and forearms behind his back, keeping them separate from the harness he tied around his torso. His chest, he bound in two parallel lines, two individual ties starting at his clavicle and forming a triangle at the front, all joined together by a strong column along his spine. Enough slack was given so that his discomfort would be minimal when he was strung up later, hopefully to minimize the backache he could already feel forming. Hopefully there was a _good_ massage in his future.

Sam pointedly turned to tapping away on his phone as Castiel progressed to the next step, namely, looping two strands of rope around his upper thighs, connected to another around his middle. “You sure you know what you’re doing?” Dean asked, quiet, not wanting to raise suspicions of his insecurities in front of his brother.

The hand running down his spine calmed him immensely. “I won’t hurt you, Dean.” Castiel kissed his nape. “You're doing good. You think you’re ready?”

He nodded, and proceeded to blanche when Castiel called Sam over, ordering to help lift Dean up high enough to where he could connect the suspension rope to the chest harness. Neither brother could look the other in the eye, especially after Sam hoisted him up in his arms and complained the entire way. “Dude, _you_ signed up for this,” Dean groaned, wincing when Castiel pulled his arms back to hook the loop at his wrist to the second rope on the upright support beam.

“Didn’t mean I wanted your dick in my face.” At least he was trying to be humorous; maybe that was how he hid his mortification. “You should lay off the diner food, you’re fucking _heavy_.”

“Oh like you’re any better, Gigantor over here.” Sam slapped the back of his shin. “Dude—.”

“Your upper body should be immobilized, now,” Castiel’s voice broke through their quarrel, looking past Dean’s body towards Sam. “Can you hold his right leg? I need to tie the left to itself.”

Sam agreed, slightly more confidence in his tone; how he was managing his own dignity, Dean didn't know. He settled for closing his eyes to the warehouse surrounding them, focusing solely on Castiel’s touch on his leg, folding it at the knee and tying his ankle to the rope at his upper thigh, ensuring it was tight enough with a sharp tug. Shin and thigh were additionally knotted together, leaving his right leg the only part of him that wasn't bound in one form or another.

As soon as the rope around his middle was joined with the chest harness and the remaining suspension rope on the girder at his back, both Castiel and Sam released him slowly, allowing the beams to support his weight effortlessly. He was in the air – _I’m actually doing this_! “Do you think you can hold your position for five minutes?” Castiel asked, a hand on his free leg, helping to point his foot to the floor at an angle. Dean told him yes, bowing his head and finding himself listening to the shuffle of boots around him and Castiel’s camera clicking away. Sam’s phone shutter joined in, an even redder tint overcoming his face. “Dude, you _better_ not send that—.”

“What? Charlie’ll probably enjoy it!” Sam barked, a second shutter clicking. “For posterity, right?”

“I’ll posterity _you_ when I get outta this thing.” Even Castiel was laughing at that, taking a few seconds to gather himself before returning to his appointed duty. “You’re breaking out the massage oil tonight, Cas.”

“I was planning on it.” Another few clicks; a hand touched his bound knee, sliding up his thigh. “Which would you prefer, mandarin or vanilla?”

Sam sputtered a few feet away, typing something on the screen of his iPhone. “Get a room, you two. Preferably at _his_ house tonight.”

He sneered, ignoring his brother and relishing in the kiss Castiel gave him, standing atop the footstool he carried with him. “Last night was fun, wasn’t it?”

Dean nodded, forehead pressed to Castiel’s in reverence. “Tonight’ll be even better.” 

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as a harmless PWP two weeks ago that got _way_ out of hand. Between reading horrible victorian literature for class and writing essays, I've effectively devoured more information about kinbaku than I needed to know. And learned what not to google in the process.
> 
> I originally got into kinbaku by watching a JGV years ago that seriously consisted of this dude tying up another guy for fifteen minutes before they got down to the actual sex part. Also I saw [this post](http://femdom-fatale.tumblr.com/post/98107471554) and majority of the positions are based off of what's listed there. I've been looking for an excuse to write this for a _long_ time and I finally found it. And I wanna thank Betty Days for threatening me with whips to finish this. 
> 
> If anyone's interested in the specific types of ties used, you can visit [this site,](http://naturallytwisted.co/) as it became ninety percent of my guide into this wonderful art form. Hope you enjoy~
> 
> Title is from the Phil Vassar song, "I'll Take That as a Yes (The Hot Tub Song)"
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](http://tragidean.tumblr.com) and [twitter](http://twitter.com/loversantiquity).


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